


The Autumn Affair

by selyndae



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Down the Chimney Affair, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2828771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selyndae/pseuds/selyndae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrush has violated an unwritten law.</p>
<p>This is for kanders07 for the Down  Chimney 2014. Her prompt was a bittersweet song, Forever Autumn by the Moody Blues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Autumn Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kanders07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanders07/gifts).



  
****

**Forever Autumn by Moody Blues**  
The summer sun is fading as the year grows old  
And darker days are drawing near  
The winter winds will be much colder  
Now you're not here

I WATCH the birds fly south across the Autumn sky  
And one by one they DISAPPEAR  
I wish that I was flying WITH them  
Now you're not here

Like the SUN through the trees you came to love me  
Like a leaf on the breeze you blew away

Through Autumn's golden gown we used to kick our way  
You always loved this time of year  
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now  
Cause you're not here (x3)  
(Instrumental break)

****  
**1968**  


The air was chilly. Dark, leaden clouds overhead hinted at snow even though, technically it was still the fall season. If an observer could actually see anything through the streaked, dingy windows, they would have seen a dark, handsome man smoking as he stared outside at the uninspiring scenery. Apparently oblivious to his surroundings, Napoleon stood statue still except for the economical motion of absently lighting up another cigarette. He finally slipped back into the shadows.

Taking a deep drag of the cigarette, he drew the acrid smoke deeply into his lungs. This was something he’d missed the last couple of years while still active in the field. The nicotine was welcomingly soothing—especially on a surveillance job.

He took another drag; the tip glowing redly until something bright outside caught his eye. Stubbing the cigarette hastily in the nearby ashtray, he brought the binoculars up to his eyes.

_False alarm._

Expression grim, he tapped another cigarette out of the pack. It was the last one. Irritably crumpling the pack he tossed it toward the wastebasket, missing it. As he lit up, he glanced briefly around the drab room.

The hotel was a cheap dump in a rundown neighborhood. The bedspread was stained, the worn carpet foul with stale smoke and rotgut booze. His coat was hung carelessly on the back of the solitary chair, made of wood, rickety, but cleanest thing in the room. The bathroom was tiny, the walls done in cheap, uneven plastic tiles of hideous salmon pink with black bit woven throughout the pattern. Two threadbare towels hung next to the small, rust-stained sink. Held up by two pitted chrome legs in front, mounted crookedly to the wall, the faucet dripped adding to the tired décor.

But, it was cheap, had a decent view of his target, and so awful he should be above suspicion, at least for an hour or so. He stretched, tired to the bone. Glancing back at the sagging bed, he snorted; even if he were willing to lie down on the stained, wrinkled bedspread, he wouldn’t sleep—not here, not yet.

Just how long since he’d had a decent night’s sleep was something he didn’t want to think about. When he’d left so precipitously—

With an angry sweep of his hand he yanked the cigarette out of his mouth and stared at it. Narrowing his eyes in sudden disgust, he jabbed it into the overflowing ashtray and returned to the surveillance.

Maybe his man would do something worth reporting. Either way, it was a job. He used to be lucky—a lifetime ago. Now, if the money wasn’t great, it was still something to help while away the endless hours and not dwell on the past.

He deliberately took a long, careful look up and down the alley and street, forcing his mind to stay focused on the job. Having too much time to think was a liability—especially when thinking was the last thing he wanted to do!

Unbidden, the betrayed look in his partner’s eyes jumped into his mind. That brief hint of pain before the Russian shuttered down his expression to a cool, bland expression Napoleon hadn’t seen since they’d first become partners.

The distrustful look had been prevalent in the very beginning of their partnership, but the challenging missions had formed an almost instantaneous bond of trust which soon developed into a close friendship.

The _too_ close friendship as it turned out. If they hadn’t been so close, they never would have moved on to—

_Enough!_

Blinking his eyes against the sudden moisture of emotion, Solo dragged his eyes back to the current job. His hand held the binoculars steady…but that was the only thing that was currently steady. Suddenly thirsty, he strode away from the window and reached for the half empty bottle of scotch. Hastily pouring himself a glass, spilling a bit in his hurry, he knocked back the libation almost with an air of desperation. 

The familiar warmth spread and he poured himself another drink, idly noting the time was just past eleven.

_It’s 5:00 o’clock somewhere…_

Gulping down the second drink, he slammed the glass down on the scarred dresser and walked back to the window. Maybe this lead wouldn’t be a dead-end like the others. Maybe this time something would come of this godforsaken job—

_Brinng. Brinng. Bring._ Then silence for 10 long seconds. Brinng. Silence.

Napoleon frowned. _The signal._

Walking over to the phone he waited for another 10 seconds.

_Bri—_

“Yes?”

_“The boss needs you right away.”_

“The target?”

_“Someone else’ll take over. You gotta come now.” Click!_

Vaguely curious, he slipped on his coat. Out of habit, he glanced around the room checking to see that nothing was missed or out of place. The ashtray, glass, and almost empty scotch were swept unceremoniously into a bag which he tucked under his coat. The door lock snicked shut behind him as he left, heading soundlessly for the stairs.

Sharp instincts made him pause at the stairwell. Hesitating the briefest moment, he decided to head up instead of down. Seeing no one on the next floor, he started to go back down when on impulse, instead continued up one more floor. This time he stepped into the hall and spying a cleaning cart, slipped into one of the empty rooms. Using the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign he locked the door and waited.

It didn’t take long.

_**BOOOM!** _

The building shook, windows rattling. _An explosion!_

His instincts had been right. Unfortunate, that… With a sigh, he cautiously checked the hall. Other than the scream of surprise and subsequent flurry of activity from the cleaning woman, there was nothing on this floor. Pausing at the stairwell, he heard yelling from below. He also smelled smoke. Quickly taking off his coat he reversed it making it camel instead of black. Snatching a clean towel from the cart, he wrapped it around his neck like a muffler and slipped on his sunglasses before heading down the stairs.

It was surprisingly easy to get out of the damaged building not only unharmed, but completely unnoticed. As he made his way through the alley, he heard excited voices in the background from the main road. In the distance, a wail of sirens could be heard.

Finally, several blocks away, he paused under a storefront awning of a drugstore. Seeing no one, and more importantly, _sensing_ no one out of the ordinary, he entered the store. Five minutes later, he exited carrying a bottle-shaped paper bag, his appearance changed with his hair rumpled, sunglasses removed, and overcoat reversed to black again. Pausing briefly to light up a cigarette from the fresh pack, he dangled it from his lips and staggered slightly as he made his way toward the nearest subway entrance.

As the subway took him out of the neighborhood, he thought about the curious bombing. It could have been coincidence… No—the timing precluded any such thing in his mind. Suddenly, the worries he’d purposely kept at bay pushed their way to the forefront. _What if this attack is not connected with that rat’s ass agency? What if it has something to do with my past? What if Illya—_

_And if I were still with UNCLE, this wouldn’t be a problem._

With a shiver, he glanced around to see where he was exactly. The subway began to slow for the station. Out on the platform, he hurried up the stairs to the pavement. From here he could grab a cab and get home. For the first time in much longer than he cared to think about, he had a purpose.

_Maybe, just maybe, I can start to get my life back._

 

A short while later, he was almost home when he tapped on the driver’s shoulder to have him stop.

“Let me off here.” A quick glance revealed a nearby five and dime. “If you can wait, I’ll just be a few moments.” Napoleon let the driver see a crisp five dollar bill.

“Sure.” The driver eyed the fin and settled back after putting on the ‘out of service’ lamp.

Solo hurried inside the shop. It was as he remembered—a pay phone near the door just behind the post cards. Thinking for a moment, he dialed a number and waited.

On the second ring, a throaty contralto answered, “Hello?”

“It’s me—no names, please. Look, ah, can we meet for lunch? I have something I need a little input on.”

“Why, yes, of course. Is 1:00 alright?”

“Sounds great. The usual?”

“That’s fine.” There was a brief pause. “You’re alright?”

Napoleon sighed. “You heard? Never mind, and yes, I’m fine. Look, we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“Of course, darling, later.”

 

Showered and dressed in an expensively discreet dark brown suit, Napoleon nursed his drink at the bar. Finally spying the lovely redhead walking into Marinelli’s, he stood, tossed down a couple of bills and was at the lady’s side as she stepped up to the maître-d. 

“You look lovelier than ever, my dear.” Napoleon smoothly kissed her hand before stepping back and smiling admiringly at his friend.

April laughed. “You’re still the charmer.” She kissed him on the cheek. Taking an appraising look herself, she remarked frankly, “You’re worried.”

Napoleon’s broad smile faded for a moment before tucking her arm in his as they were led to the back. The dining room was quiet, the nearby fireplace welcoming as they studied the menus.

When their orders were finally taken, April gave her lunch companion another appraising look. She sipped her wine, smiled briefly, and asked matter of fact, “Are you going to tell me about it?”

Napoleon gave her an answering brief smile. “Yes, I suppose I’ll have to.”

April nodded encouragingly.

“Okay. First, that attack at the hotel—there was absolutely no reason for it. The job I was on simply wasn’t that important or dangerous.” He paused. “By the way, was anyone…hurt?”

April shook her head, “No one. Interestingly enough, the bomb was confined to one room where a ‘Mr. Smith’ was registered. Nothing in the way of evidence was found to show _anyone_ had been there, let alone the mysterious Mr. Smith. Odd, isn’t it?”

Napoleon held her eyes remarking blandly, “Yes, isn’t it.”

April wrinkled her nose appealingly and smiled, but her tone was suspicious, “So, I suppose there’s nothing in the way of a lead...?”

“Naturally.” Glancing up at the waitress, he gave a boyish grin. “But first, lunch.”

“Marinelli’s has always been good,” agreed April knowing nothing else would be said about the matter. After lunch would be a different story…

 

Daintily dabbing her lips, April gave the former CEA an appraising look. If Napoleon felt uncomfortable about it, he kept it to himself. With a sigh, she began to stand. Napoleon stood and was at her side instantly, assisting her with her chair like the gentleman he was. Regretfully thinking how that small act was rapidly becoming a thing of the past in these changing times, she smiled up in thanks. Then, in a flash she became steely business as she reached for his arm.

“Napoleon, I’m afraid this lunch wasn’t just a chance to catch up.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“Or even a…debriefing, so to speak.”

Napoleon gave a disarming smile which didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m to go back with you, right?”

April gave a small moue of disappointment before remarking ruefully, “You’re a difficult man to astonish.”

Giving her a peck on the cheek he murmured, “You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

 

He’d been covertly studying his tail for the last several minutes. Just exactly who they were and what they wanted was unknown. For all he knew, they were ‘friendly’ so to speak. 

It really didn’t matter either way…

_Ah_

Arriving at the small club, he cautiously slipped inside the heavy door. Certain that he hadn’t lost the agents, he made his way through the crowded room to sit down near the back at a table chosen for its view of the exits as well as its comparative privacy. A few moments passed before the door opened and two men dressed in topcoats and dark suits came inside. Their entrance was telling; although the door had been opened rapidly, the men didn’t enter or even stand in the doorway until their eyes adjusted to the relative darkness inside. The relief on their faces when they spotted his bright hair was almost comical.

Allowing a few more minutes to pass during which he tapped idly, almost impatiently on the table, a buxom, statuesque brunette dressed in a brief, tight skirt which showed off her lovely legs walked over to his table. Glancing up, he gave a twitch of a smile before standing up. Shorter than the beautiful lady, he leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek before holding a chair for her to be seated. She smiled giving a glimpse of brilliant white teeth.

Catching the bartender’s eye, he signaled for drinks. Shifting his chair a bit closer to hers, he caught her hand in his as he leaned toward her. It was obvious to anyone watching the beautiful couple that they were in love and meeting for drinks.

But, appearances were definitely misleading—the woman was an acquaintance (with a past similar to his own) and Illya Kuryakin was craftily painting his picture for the unwelcome tail.

Drinks arrived and Illya, after toasting the lady and taking a swallow, stood up with a small, apologetic smile. She smiled sweetly and sipped her own drink while he left for the men’s room.

In his absence, the woman opened her purse and pulled out her compact. Widening her eyes at a perceived shiny nose, she stood up and sashayed provocatively into the woman’s room.

It took two more minutes before the agents who were tailing Kuryakin realized something was very wrong. The men’s room was empty!

It didn’t help their self-esteem that the woman’s room was also empty…

 

Inside the spacious, tastefully decorated waiting room, a man sat in the far corner, attaché case on his lap.

Illya entered the room casually and shot a puzzled glance at the receptionist. “Miss Klein, did I forget an appointment?”

“No, Sir. This…” She glared at the young man sitting innocuously in the back, “ _gentleman_ insisted on seeing you today. I explained that you saw no one without an appointment and asked him to leave.” She looked back up at Illya and added in a low voice, “I called security. When they arrived, he showed them some kind of identification. Mr. Glenn verified it and asked me to allow him to stay. Until you arrived, anyway."

_“I see… Get Mr. Glenn on the phone for me, please.”_

It only took a moment for the line to buzz back. 

“Mr. Glenn. You approved an uninvited visitor?” 

_“Yes, Sir. He had I.D. for the U.N.C.L.E. and said it was imperative that he see you as soon as possible. His credentials checked out, Sir.”_

“I see…” Glaring at the visitor he said evenly, “Very well,” and handed the receiver back to his receptionist. “I will see you now.” 

Sighing inwardly, he led the way to his office. _As much as I dislike having to have this interlude, I must applaud this man’s skill in tracking me._

“Mr. Kuryakin?” His voice was calm and deferentially polite. The young man was well-dressed in a dark business suit, tie perfectly centered and tied in a Windsor knot. His highly polished shoes reflected sparks of light. Cautiously eying the lethal glare, he added hastily, “Sir, I really _am_ with the U.N.C.L.E. as you know from your security chief.” 

I presume your business is of national concern. No, I can see that it is not. I have no time for your nonsense as your superior is aware.” He turned his back on the dapper man. 

“I,” the man swallowed hard, “I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Kuryakin. We were just making sure you were okay!” 

Illya stopped and spun around, glaring. “As you can obviously see, I am fine! Or, I will be once you have gone. Go away!” 

“Yes, Sir, we can see that now. We just needed to check, what with the attack on Mr. Solo and all.” 

Inwardly blanching, he was outwardly bland and dismissive. “I trust he is fine as am I. Now, _go_." 

“Yes Sir.” The agent started to leave. 

“You will relay my…request that I am not to be bothered again.” The deadly menace in Kuryakin’s voice instantly froze the agent. 

“Yes, Sir, I’ll see to it personally, Sir.” 

As soon as the young agent had gone, Illya sighed as he double-locked the heavy door. Suddenly exhausted, he sat down in the modern ergonomic leather chair. He switched on the desk lamp and thumbed the intercom button. 

“Miss Klein, you may lock up and go home early. Anything you have pending can wait.” 

_“Thank you, Sir.”_

“Thank _you_ , Miss Klein. You did a fine job today. Good Night.” 

The intercom closed, he opened a small cabinet door which concealed a state-of-the-art freezer and pulled out a perfectly chilled bottle of Stolichnaya. As he poured, he frowned at the faint unsteadiness of his hand. Slamming the drink firmly down on his desk, he got up and began to pace. 

_…the attack on Mr. Solo and all_ kept running through his mind. 

He snatched up the drink and knocked it back in one warming swallow. “This is utterly ridiculous!” He muttered, raking his hand through his hair. “Why should I worry? He’s the one who—” 

But he refused to dwell on the past. _Especially_ a past that included a smug, arrogant, talented, handsome man who had the unmitigated gall to throw away a partnership—a _friendship_ , because of—” 

_“Nyet!”_

Shaken, but refusing to give in to overpowering emotions, Illya shut off the lamp leaving the room in darkness. A quick trip down an empty corridor to another door revealed an outer door which opened easily with a simple key. The inner one had a steel core and used state-of-the-art security. 

Visitors were _never_ invited into this area… 

Locks and alarms in place. Nothing amiss. Safety. A peaceful haven. A place where he didn’t have to be anyone or anything. 

With a sigh, Illya headed for the bedroom. A small light burned steadily from the hallway by the small study serving as a nightlight. An unfortunate accident with a now defunct piece of furniture after Yugoslavia forced him into pragmatically keeping some kind of lighting on at all times. 

Flipping the switch in the master bedroom bathed the room in a soft glow from the small lamps of either side of the tall featherbed. Another lamp next to a comfortable chair was also lit—this one brighter to allow for easy reading, but diffused throughout the rest of the room by the dark lampshade. 

As he got ready for bed, an irrelevant thought about how his partner— _his former_ partner— would view this lavish display of decadence brought a twitch of a smile. Nevertheless, the room was comfortable and welcoming with its grey walls, crisp white drapes, and splash of color in the periwinkle blue bedspread. The polished hardwood floors were stained a rich mahogany. Thick oriental rugs in a predominant blue color broke the starkness of the room. In the far corner behind the chair was a wall of crammed-full built-in bookshelves. There were no pictures on the walls. Other than an oval mirror hung above one dresser, the walls were bare except for the books in stacked in the tall shelving. The room was surprisingly cozy. 

It had been oddly unsettling returning to UNCLE Headquarters New York. He and April came through the Masque Club and the receptionist was new to him, but, blushing slightly, she appeared to succumb to his charm quite nicely. 

_You still have it Solo…_

Glancing over at April and seeing her smirk, he had the grace to be mildly embarrassed at being read so easily. 

“He’ll see you now.” The secretary was cool and polite. 

“Did Lisa leave too?” whispered Napoleon curiously. 

“She was promoted to New Delhi as Section 1, Number 2,” whispered April in response. 

“Good for her.” 

The door slid open. April smiled and mouthed ‘Later’ as Napoleon turned to enter the once familiar room. 

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Solo. We’ve called you in because of the attack.” 

Solo studied the man seated in Waverly’s old spot. At one time it might have been him sitting there. The position no longer carried the same clout it did when Waverly held. In June, when Waverly left, all Section 1 Chiefs began to share their duties with a highly-placed assistant. He remembered Mr. Allison from before and realized the man must have been called out of retirement. 

“The attack?” Solo automatically sat down in what used to be his usual spot. “Really, Sir, that’s hardly necessary.” 

“I’m afraid it was. You see, this wasn’t the first attack on ‘retired’ UNCLE agents.” 

Solo’s eyebrows raised. 

“It would seem as though the unwritten ban regarding former agents has been lifted by Thrush.” 

A sigh. “So, I’m not the first or even a specific target.” 

“I’m afraid not.” 

Solo gave a firm nod of his head. “I’ll keep that in mind in my investigation.” 

“Out of the question.” 

“Well then,” drawled Napoleon slowly, “since I’m no longer an active agent, you can no longer give me orders.” 

“For your own safety, man, you must—” 

“Must? I don’t think so. Now, if there’s nothing further.” Solo stood up and started to leave. 

“Very well!” He punched a button rather firmly and the door slid open to admit April Dancer. “You will work directly with Miss Dancer. She’s leading the investigation from this end.” He pinned Solo with a hard glance. “I trust that won’t be a problem." 

“Not at all.” 

April caught Napoleon’s eye and gave him a knowing smile before turning back to Mr. Allison. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Sir.” 

Back in Dancer’s office, the current top agent and former top agent sat down to confer. 

“What do you have so far?” Napoleon got right to the point. 

“Not as much as we’d like. We’ve been checking for patterns but nothing so far. The only connection we’ve found is that it’s just former agents who are under attack.” 

“Geography? Former cases?” 

She shook her head. “Nothing, Napoleon… except…” 

“Except what?” 

“Well, there is _one_ connection. You and Illya were partners. Other than that, none of the others ever worked together and as far as we can tell, never even met.”

“Wait a minute. Illya was attacked? But…isn’t he still an active agent?”

“Illya left three months after you did.”

Napoleon was stunned. “I had no idea. And, he’s been attacked as well.”

April hesitated. “Yes.” Seeing the look on Napoleon’s face she added hastily, “He wasn’t hurt. Quite the contrary—those particular Thrush won’t be bothering anyone again.”

Solo grinned at that picture. “What about bringing him in on this, too? I think the three of us could come up with something solid…”

April was shaking her head even before Napoleon finished. “We’ve tried. He won’t come back—not for anything. He’s—” She gave a sad smile. “You know what he’d like.”

Memories of what he’d lost flooded in his mind and heart. Firmly reining in those regrets he forced himself back to the present and the crisis.

“April… since Illya is no longer an active agent, I presume UNCLE knows his whereabouts.”

“Well, of course, but, Napoleon, you know that information is classified.”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“When you were CEA you weren’t given that information. Policy hasn’t changed.”

“True, true. Circumstances aren’t quite the same, though.” He pursed his lips. “We’re going to need him for this. As you’ve pointed out, we’re the only former agents with any kind of connection.”

April sighed. I’m not sure even your legendary charm will work. He’s pretty…irritated with us.”

“I can well imagine.”

“The recent flurry of Thrush activity concerning former and retired agents has UNCLE stepping up on security. Contacting Illya was… Other than embarrassing some Section Three agents, it was at least, successful. The message he sent back was very clear.”

“I see…”

“Which makes bringing him in against his wishes, a truly dangerous move…”

Napoleon grinned. “Oh yes—very dangerous indeed.”

“We’d better go and meet him.”

 

A powerful black Chrysler sedan pulled into the underground garage at UNCLE New York. Inside the car were two enforcement agents, two security agents, and one furious former agent,

Kuryakin remained silent as he was taken into New York headquarters. The visitor’s badge was fastened to his jacket by a young man at reception, hands trembling.

Remaining stonily silent as they walked down the once familiar steel halls flanked by the agents, his posture was that of a disgruntled prisoner rather than that of an ally. The few familiar faces seen as Kuryakin and his escorts passed in the halls stopped, their smiles of greeting fading instantly at his stone countenance.

Finally arriving at Number One, Section One’s door, he was escorted inside. The people inside looked up instantly; Mr. Allison with his usual solemn expression while Napoleon Solo and April Dancer offered warm smiles of greeting.

“You may go, gentlemen.” Allison waved away the escort.

The door slid shut and for a long moment there was silence. Kuryakin stood ramrod straight, eyes straight ahead.

Allison studied the former agent carefully.

“Illya, you’re not a prisoner. Come on, have a seat,” invited Solo.

Still facing forward, Kuryakin’s eyes narrowed. “I was taken by force from my place of business—which I shall now have to fumigate. Not a prisoner? Hardly that since I am obviously not free to go.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Kuryakin, you’re not a prisoner. UNCLE is not in the habit of forcing itself where not needed. This is for your safety—surely you must see that.”

Kuryakin’s full glare settled on his long-ago former boss, his tone low and lethal. “I am perfectly able to take care of myself. And, it is my business. Not. Yours.”

Allison turned his own glare on the former agent, but his tone was almost casual. “I don’t doubt that at all. It took our best agents to bring you in undamaged—at least on your part. I really can’t say the same for them. But, tell me this. Can you guarantee the safety of those around you? Your assistant, Miss Klein, for example, was followed two days ago right after the first unsuccessful attack. She managed to keep her head and got to safety at a nearby police station. But, she’s not a professional. It was pure luck that one of our own agents spied the Thrush and captured him before anything could happen.”

Illya’s expression didn’t change but Napoleon saw something flicker in the pale eyes. “I stand corrected, Mr. Allison.”

Mr. Kuryakin, we know you value your privacy and our policy is to allow former agents that very thing. The situation, however, is that _all former UNCLE agents are under attack._ ”

Illya’s expression became thoughtful. “So Thrush has called off the unwritten truce. And, you think I can help?”

“As a former agent we’re hoping to gain insights, yes. Also, ahem, Mr. Solo has reminded us of the singularly high success rate the two of you enjoyed as active agents.”

“I see…” He gave a brief nod toward his former partner. “Since you’ve…requested my presence I presume you have something in mind.”

“Thank you, yes,” Allison glanced down at the file in front of him. “If you’ll have a seat…”

Illya slowly sat down in the chair nearest the door. 

As he settled in, April glanced at Napoleon as she got up and sat back down next to Illya. As soon as Solo and Kuryakin were seated again, Allison cleared his throat.

“Miss Dancer in charge of this investigation—I trust you’ll keep that in mind.” Seeing that he had everyone’s attention, he spun the console sending the file to April as he continued, “These are the names and instances of all the retired and former agents who have been attacked over the last three months.” He caught everyone’s eye. “We’ve had some of our best analysts look over these, but so far nothing stands out—other than the business of inactive agents being targeted.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’d like you to resolve this problem as soon as possible. We’ve been contacting the other agents as best as we can to warn them. Unfortunately we don’t have the manpower to assign someone to protect them all. And there are some we haven’t been able to locate as of yet. However, just because we can’t locate them, doesn’t mean Thrush won’t be able to.” The intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

_“Your four o’clock is here.”_

“Thank you.” He gave a meaningful glance at the agents.

April picked up the file. “We’ll get right on this.”

“Keep in touch. Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin… thank you.”

Napoleon nodded as they left to go to April’s office. Once there, the agents looked around, curious to see if anything had changed now that April had what used to be their office. As they looked around at the little touches, they spied a photograph of Mark Slate on her desk. Unlike most of his pictures, this one showed Mark in a pensive mood, his eyes warm and gentle as he looked over at something or someone in the distance.

“How’s Mark these days?” asked Napoleon as he settled into the comfortable chair near April’s desk.

April had pulled out some pads of paper and was searching through the center drawer. “He really enjoys working in the Intelligence Division from the London office.”

“He has family there, doesn’t he?”

“Yes he does. I miss him, of course, but he’s really much happier out of the field. And we’ve plans to get together over New Year’s… _if_ this Affair can be wrapped up! Now then,” She handed out paper and pencils. “Let’s brainstorm and see what we can come up with.”

She had no more finished speaking when a buzzer sounded and the office door slid open. 

“Where do you want these, Ms. Dancer?”

April looked past the earnest clerk. Behind him was a large rolling three-shelf cart filled with file boxes of files.

“Just push them in the back. Thank you.”

The clerk handed a clipboard over, which April signed and returned before leaving. The door slid shut again leaving the three agents looking at the vast amount of files in dismay.

“They look, uh, tidy, anyway,” offered Napoleon with a sigh.

“That’s probably a good thing since you these are your cases.”

Grimacing, the agents each picked up a box and began going through the files, newest first.

The first case file was the last one where Solo and Kuryakin were still a team with the Command. Memories and the feelings of despair from that Affair came flooding back from just seeing the name ‘Kingsley.’

Hearing Solo’s small sigh, April glanced over and caught the file name. “After that business with Kingsley, nothing has been usual. Or, at least as usual as anything is with Thrush.”

There was a long solemn silence as the men remembered that particular Affair. The turning of Kingsley, the recreational drugs, the docility gas… It was all so discouraging and several enforcement agents had either left the field or left UNCLE altogether. 

It was also around that time that Waverly had begun to show his true age, failing health, and a sad ruthlessness until he retired abruptly, citing poor health.

_This was all speculation, though, since Napoleon had been one of the many agents to have left the Command…_

 

For a while there was only silence except for papers turning.

“I wonder why Thrush started attacking?” Napoleon considered as he studied yet another file,

April, still looking through her own batch of folders, didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”

“Why now? What has changed?”

“Hmm…yes, _something_ must be different. Perhaps a new leader in the echelon?” Illya was thoughtful. “Did someone get killed or put away?” 

April looked up and was equally thoughtful. “Hmmm…now I wonder…” She picked up the stack of the older cases and stopped. Setting the file back down, she picked up the phone and quickly dialed a number.

“Marilyn? I need some information put through right away…….Yes, I’ll hold.” She put her hand over the receiver and glanced over at the men. “I’m going to have the Data Processing Department narrow things down for—” Taking her hand off she spoke back into the phone, “Jon, I know you’re busy but we need this ASAP……No, it shouldn’t be too long......Uh huh……Yes, I’ll bring down Mr. Allison’s approval..”

She hung up and turned back to the agents. “Now, we’re getting somewhere.” She stood up. “C’mon, let’s go.”

The two former agents got up and followed the pretty redhead feeling old beyond their years at her ebullient energy.

 

The room which housed Data Processing was large and bright. The equipment crammed into the chilled room was a jumble of sleek state-of-the-art tape drives, older but shiny punch card sorters and an ancient reproducing punch card machine. One side of the room had a raised, glassed-in area where keypunchers and verifying machines were housed. Three women were hard at work entering and verifying large stacks of materials—presumably going into the massive UNCLE computers. Four input keyboards were on one side of the main floor connected by thick cables to the mainframe computers.

The room was enclosed within a special, climate-controlled area with a special interlock entry.

April spied a tall man wearing a suit sans tie who was running one of the sorters and waved. “Jon!”

He turned and seeing the pretty agent, nodded as he fed in the last of a tall stack of punch cards. Glancing to see the machine was running properly, he walked over to the door and keyed in a code allowing the inside door to open. He suspiciously studied the unfamiliar men closely.

“Sorry, Jon. These gentlemen are Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin. Gentlemen, Jon Martin, Head of Data Processing.”

Introductions made, the man’s expression cleared and he pressed another button opening the outside door. “If you’ll wipe your feet before coming inside…” Satisfied, he led the small group over to a tiny alcove under the raised keypunch area, just on the other side of the sorter he’d been using. “I pulled out the data you requested—the main villains from any Affairs coded with agents 002 and 011. That’s all so far.”

“So, you can, um, sort out any kind of criteria?” Napoleon pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“Just about.”

“Alright. Let’s start by eliminating those who are dead,” proposed Napoleon.

“—and have no immediate family or heirs.” added Illya.

Jon keyed in some information and pressed a button to begin the process. The stack that came out was much smaller.

“Out of these, can we pull anyone who has had a change—when was the first attack, April?”

“Right after Labor Day, Napoleon, on September 5th.”

“Okay, pull anyone who has had a change around Labor Day—say, between the last two weeks of August and the first week of September.”

“What kind of change..?” Jon seemed unsure.

“Death in the family…” 

“Change of status… Demotion...” recited April ticking them off her fingers.

“Change of address.” IIlya shrugged. “Any kind of change, I should think.”

The machine hummed, lights blinking. Finally only four cards were left.

“Would you like the dossiers on these four?”

April beamed. “That would be great, Jon, thanks.”

“As long as Mr. Allison thinks so, too…” 

“He will.”

 

Back in the office, the agents pored over the files.

“Oh, this can’t be right.”

Napoleon looked over April’s shoulder. “Victor Martón? How so?”

“Yes, he did rather lose favor with Thrush,” commented Illya drily, “Once he was released in trade.”

“Yeees…but would he break the unwritten truce? Despite his being Thrush, he was rather a gentleman. I think breaking something like this would be out of character.”

April had been looking through the file. “Oh, here’s the flagged change. It looks like Mr. Martón was in the hospital in August for some kind of surgery.”

“What’s his status now?”

“Ummmm, he appears to be back in Europe convalescing.” April put the folder off to one side. “So I imagine he’s out.” 

Solo was leafing through another file. Startled, he plucked out a studio photograph of Narcissus Darling. “I can’t imagine the gorgeous Narcissus holding a grudge and lashing out against former agents.” Flipping through the pages, he paused, eyebrows raised. “It says here that Miss Darling was transferred to Czechoslovakia. I wonder why…?”

“Some kind of punishment perhaps? You would know more about that, Napoleon.”

“Narcissus has always been about Narcissus. And, besides being very beautiful, she’s also a highly trained operative and smart. And in that last Affair with the deep bore, she wound up a winner. At least as far as any reports to Thrush afterwards.”

“Maybe she requested the transfer to Czechoslovakia. Prague is scenic and quite modern.”

“Prague… hmm. It’s just so far from where she— Now I wonder…” Napoleon smiled suddenly. “A hospital. Prague has some very private, very exclusive hospitals.”

Illya looked up curious. “Plastic surgery?”

April had been looking through the file as well. “Or, perhaps something even…more private.” She replaced the file. “An abortion comes to mind. Either way, I don’t think she’s the culprit.”

Napoleon sighed.

“What about this Zed? It says here that Sully was discovered posing as Raymond. I would imagine that would be a powerful motive against retired UNCLE agents,” Illya pointed out.

“Definitely a possibility. What was it that flagged his file?” 

“It says here when Sully was uncovered, Zed’s operation was shut down, A great many sympathizers felt betrayed by the gaffe and Zed was demoted rather harshly. He would have simply been eliminated had he not held such a high position. Yes, this does look promising.” Napoleon started to reach for the phone. “We should get whatever additional information on this Zed that we can.”

April picked up the fourth file. “This one’s on a Laslo Kurasov, a former Ambassador of sorts from the Balkans.”

Napoleon and Illya glanced at each other. Kurasov?

“It says here that he arrived in New York on September 1st. Apparently Kurasov claimed sanctuary and wanted to defect.” April paused a moment, “That’s odd… Even though he was red-flagged by not only UNCLE but Immigration and the C.I.A., he was permitted entry into the U.S.”

Illya spoke first. “The Project Strigas Affair. He was a malevolent tyrant who was returned to the Balkans in disgrace.”

Napoleon nodded as he too, remembered that particular Affair. “Yes, I believe Illya gave them a ‘secret’ formula for, ah, floor wax.”

“Well, that would certainly qualify as a motive. I’m sure he wasn’t happy about being sent back,” mused April, “It says here that he was allowed a visa due to his wife’s poor health. Oh dear! It says here that his wife died on their way here.”

“Kurasov did strike me as a petty tin-god dictator…the type who would hold a grudge and plot revenge.”

“Yes, well, even his own people seemed pleased enough to have him taken out of the way. The situation definitely improved with his absence—even with Kolodin still in power and that person who took the Ambassadorship…Vladeck.” Illya stated the facts concisely, “But how would he even know where to look? I don’t recall that he was particularly brilliant—just…petty and spiteful.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised he’s even still around—and active. He has to be well over the Thrush retirement age.”

“Maybe they made an exception based on his relative importance. After all, Ward Baldwin was past that age when we, ah, worked with him on that Dagger Affair ”

“That’s true. April, we’re going to need whatever information is available on Zed _and_ Kurasov?”

“Already on it. We should have the information shortly—by courier if necessary!”

“Already under your thumb already, Miss Dancer?” teased Napoleon with a grin.

“Ha, ha.” She grinned back. “I’ll bet we could even have some coffee and stuff sent in.”

 

Studying the additional information, although containing a surprising amount of detail, still had the agents unsure as to which Thrush was masterminding the attacks.

Sighing hugely, Napoleon stretched, disgusted. “I _am_ out of practice. Dammit, I should be able to do this, but I just can’t figure it.”

Illya shrugged. “We’ll have to divide our resources and check out both.” He picked up the file on Kurasov. “I’ll check on this one. Maybe I can get some extra insight on his thought patterns since I’m familiar with that part of the world.”

“Okay, that leaves Zed for me” Napoleon settled his suit coat on his shoulders. “I’d better get—”

“Hold it boys!” April glared at the men. “UNCLE has more resources than just you two. Let’s at least have some of the others get in on the fun and gather some preliminary Intel. ”

At their sheepish expressions, she relaxed slightly.

 

It took just 40 minutes for the first reports to come trickling into the office. 

“…and you’re quite sure?” April was all business. She’d had the calls routed through a loudspeaker to save time.

“Yes, ma’am. When we got there, the place was destroyed. The local authorities believe it was some kind of gas leak. We’ll go through the debris when it cools down, but we probably won’t find much—the fire was pretty hot.”

“How about casualties?”

“Too soon to tell.”

“Well, stay with it and report back as soon as you learn anything.”

“Yes, Ms. Dancer.”

A moment after the connection ended, Napoleon said thoughtfully, “That was oddly timed.”

“Yes, wasn’t it…I wonder if we’ll find out that Zed has been conveniently removed?”

Before anyone could speculate further, another report came in.

“Ms. Dancer, we just found Zed’s body. He was shot in the back of the head. He appears to have been dead at least a couple of days—maybe longer. I think they may have planned on destroying the building with him in it, but the back part didn’t burn as much. That’s how we were able to get inside.”

“Thanks.” Wrinkling her brow, she turned back to the team. “Well, it’s beginning to look less and less like Zed was behind the attacks. If the timeline is accurate he’d have already been killed prior to the latest attack.”

“If this was his plotted revenge, I’d have thought Thrush would have been behind him.” Napoleon was thoughtful.

“I don’t know…maybe Thrush didn’t approve of his taking out inactive agents,” protested April

Illya tapped the Kurasov folder thoughtfully. “That leaves the former Ambassador. He must be the one.”

“I agree. Why haven’t we heard anything yet?”

April picked up the phone. “My thoughts exactly. We should have heard something by now—Casey? Have you located Kurasov yet?......Yes, I see……He isn’t there at all?......Well, keep on it.” Phone still in hand, she said evenly, “He’s not at the hotel. In fact, he’s never been at the hotel or hospital or _anywhere_ our sources had given.”

“I don’t believe it! He’s outwitted—wait, the Extermination place! Illya, do you recall that address?”

“Of course.” He stood up and unconsciously patted his left side. “April, are we to remain unarmed?”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask.” Unlocking a file drawer, she pulled out two familiar Specials and holsters. As the men put on the gear, she warned, “But, we’re not going to do anything foolish, are we?”

“You wound us.” Napoleon tried for an innocent look.

“Yeah, right. Now, what do you think about doing—”

“What about Donfield?” interrupted Illya. “He and his wife may require some protection.”

“I’ll send over someone right away.” April picked up the phone again. Watching the men confer with each other during the call, she became alarmed when they pulled on their coats. Call finished, she leaned back and drawled, “Going someplace boys?”

“It occurs to me that Kurasov may not be quite as much on the outs as we supposed. In fact—”

“—In fact, this could very well be a plot on the part of their government.” Illya’s Russian accent became a shade more pronounced. “I would not surprise me to learn that Kurasov is in fact, acting with their blessings.”

“And,” continued Napoleon, “they may have been in on it from the first. A nasty little scheme would certainly ingratiate himself back into their good graces.”

“That’s harsh.” April was slipping on her own coat. “So, where do you thing they are?”

“The Embassy.”

Napoleon nodded in agreement, then paused. “Wait. Is Vladeck still in the picture, I wonder…”

Illya gave a feral grin. “That’s what assures me of Kurasov’s status. Vladeck has been… demoted.”

 

A short time later, the three agents were drinking coffee at the tiny shop down the street from the Balkan Embassy. As they sipped on their hot drinks, Illya shrugged. “I see no other way to get us in quickly. Time _is_ of the essence.”

Napoleon scowled. “I don’t like it. You’ll be a sitting duck!”

“Hardly that. Besides, we _know_ he wants me and won’t be able to resist the bait.”

April sighed. “I’d tell you to be careful…”

“…but you’d be wasting your breath. Illya, there has to be another way.”

“Not in time.” Illya stood up. “Remember, on my signal.”

April caught his hand. “Remember, we can’t have any international incidents.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “If—no, _when_ this works, there won’t be.”

He turned, left the café, ran down the sidewalk and dashed across the street in front of the Embassy. Dodging cars amid brakes squealing and horns honking, he finally made it to the stairs and plunged inside.

Napoleon and April watching from the window released their held breaths as they saw him enter the building.

“That’s my cue. I’ll go hang out by the shrubbery.” Napoleon tugged his coat back on.

April was already pulling out her pen communicator to notify headquarters. She paused a moment. “You still have yours, don’t you?”

Napoleon grinned and patted his top pocket before heading outside.

In the Embassy, things were happening quickly.

Illya, after stumbling into the main lobby, sank down to his knees, gasping for breath. Two men in formal military uniforms ran over to him, hands on their weapons.

“I-I must see the Ambassador!” Illya’s Russian accent was strong, his voice harsh. “It is matter of national importance!”

A tall man came striding out of the office on the main floor. He looked around and seeing no one except for Illya, demanded, “Who are you? What is the matter you wish to discuss with the Ambassador?”

Illya reached over to a nearby chair and dragged himself up into it before saying doggedly, “I must see the Ambassador. I will speak with no one else.”

“I am his Aide-de-Camp, Vladimir Petrovic. The Ambassador sees no one without an appointment.”

Illya glared up at the man. “That may be, but I am not authorized to give the message to anyone _except_ the Ambassador.”

Petrovic remained calm as he considered the situation. “I must see your credentials.”

Illya’s mouth twitched as he slowly reached inside his pocket. From a small, cellophane envelope, he slipped out a small slip of paper. On it, in carefully printed letters was the words ‘strigas revolution.’ Handing it to the man, he hissed, “This must go to Kurasov at once!” Waving a hand dismissively, he added, “He will see me when he gets this message.”

Petrovic sniffed as he glanced at the words on the paper. “You will wait here. I shall see if His Excellency will receive you.”

As the Aide-de-Camp went up the sweeping staircase, Illya took out a handkerchief, thumbing on his communicator as he did so.

It was only moments later when loud voices could be heard from upstairs.

Illya looked up when a door was flung open and out strode a very angry Kurasov.

“You!” He spat furiously. He gestured wildly. “Guards!”

Illya remained calm as he stood up, even as the two men each grabbed an arm.

Kurasov, seeing that Kuryakin was safely in custody, smiled thinly. “Bring that man up to my quarters. We have much to discuss before his execution as a traitor of the State.”

The men started to force Kuryakin to the stairs when a loud pounding on the front door began. Unsure whether to continue upstairs or to stay and see about the door, they stopped at the foot of the stairs.

The pounding stopped and the door was flung open. Standing outside was a large man in military garb. Flanking him were two military policemen and behind him, a couple of New York policemen as well as Napoleon Solo.

One of the men holding on to Illya let go and stood smartly at attention as he saluted the General. The other, kept hold, but he also gave a sharp salute.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the General harshly.

Kurasov, recognizing the man, immediately rushed down the stairs. “General Kolodin! We didn’t expect to see you. Welcome! Can I get you anything?” Without waiting for an answer he waved a hand to Petrovic. “See that tea is brought immediately!”

“I am not here for social reasons. I am here to see that you are removed from your…duties.”

“B-but General! Why would—”

“Enough!” Kolodin narrowed his eyes at the men holding Kuryakin. “You will release that man immediately.” Their hands dropped to their sides and they took a step backwards. “You will escort Mr. Kurasov outside this Embassy. He no longer has status.”

“B-but General, why—” In a sudden move, he leapt at Kuryakin with a knife that suddenly appeared in his hand. “It’s all your fault! Die you-you Cossack!”

The two men grappled for a moment while the others looked on. It wasn’t much of a struggle before Illya stood up, unharmed. 

Kurasov was breathing in great heaving breaths as he stood, held by the men who’d held Kuryakin only minutes earlier. They started to take him outside when suddenly the man broke free. He drew a gun he’d had hidden in an ankle holster and started to take aim. Napoleon, seeing the danger, started to grab the gun when Kurasov, seeing no way out, put the gun to his own head and fired.

The silence was deafening.

“Clean this up!” Kolodin barked out his orders. Looking outside at Napoleon, he only said, “I’m afraid you’ve lost your prisoner.”

Napoleon nodded shortly.

“This is Embassy business. There will be no repercussions for your country.”

“Thank you.” Napoleon smiled briefly.

Illya came out and stood next to him for a moment before shrugging. “I suppose we’ll have to report this.”

April was waiting just outside the gate as the two men came out. “Well, at least it’s over, now.” She linked arms with them.

 

They just arrived at Del Floria’s when Napoleon stopped. “Look, you don’t need us still, do you?”

“I can make the report, if that’s what you mean.”

You should make your flight, anyway.”

April smiled. “That I will. Oh, Napoleon, won’t you consider coming back?”

“To UNCLE? No…I still need time to… I don’t know.” He gave her a hug. “Maybe someday…if things change and all.”

“Illya?”

“No.”

April stopped and looked at the blond. “Well, that was quick.”

Illya shrugged.

“Say, what time is your flight?” Napoleon peered at his watch.

“Oh! I’ve got to run!” Smiling brilliantly at the men, she added, “You two take care of yourselves, okay?”

“Of course. Merry Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, April.”

“Merry Christmas to both of you.” She hurried down the steps.

Napoleon turned to Illya. “Would you like to get a drink or something?”

Illya fell in step with him, “A drink sounds good.”

They went in a quiet little bar not far from headquarters but one not frequented by agents. They sat quietly, sipping at their drinks. Finally Napoleon, eyes still on his drink, spoke softly.

“Illya, I-I’m so sorry for what I did to you.

“You did nothing I didn’t allow.”

“Maybe…but I didn’t have to an ass about it,”

“Don’t…”

“Look, Illya, you know me. At least you used to—” He stopped and looked at his partner, wanting the connection.

Illya quirked a tiny smile, “We’ll concede the knowing.”

Napoleon smiled ruefully. “Well, something you _didn’t_ know was my, uh, preferences.”

Illya waited.

“Look, I’m, well, I’m bisexual.” Stopping to gauge his partner’s reaction, he only saw a blank expression. “I like both women _and_ men. Sexually. As in—”

“I know what bisexual means.”

“Well… The thing is, I didn’t _know_. Um, I knew what bisexual meant—but I didn’t know that I was. Not then. Not until you were…gone,” He whispered the last word.

“I didn’t leave, Napoleon. _You_ did.”

“Yes, yes, I left UNCLE. The feelings that overwhelmed when you told me you loved me were completely unexpected. I knew you loved me like a brother. A brother. I even knew about homosexuals, sure. But the shock of those feelings from within me… I suddenly realized in that moment that I loved you—in _that_ way. It was wrong of me, but I did the only thing I could. I couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t want any part of it and seeing you every day—I couldn’t handle it. So I left.”

Illya was silent. Nothing in his expression revealed nothing. Finally in a cool, carefully neutral tone, he stated flatly, “And you decided to tell me this now.”

Napoleon’s smile faltered. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“It is my turn to apologize, Napoleon. Things are what they are. I—nothing has changed.” He hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand, “Goodbye.”

Napoleon stared, too stunned to shake hands.

Like the SUN through the trees you came to love me  
Like a leaf on the breeze you blew away  
(instrumental break)  
A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes  
As if to hide a lonely tear  
My life will be forever Autumn  
Cause you're not here (3x)  
(Instrumental break)  
Cause you're not here (3x)  
(short instrumental)  
Cause you're not here, (fade out) __

**1983…**

Illya Kuryakin, mildly disturbed by the ruckus, looked up from where he was entertaining a client at the Russian Tea Room. To his astonishment, he saw his former partner in the thick of things and without conscious thought, jumped up grinning with delight to join in the fray…

**Author's Note:**

> Referenced works are:  
> The Dagger Affair by David McDaniel  
> The Project Strigas Affair  
> The Odd Man Affair  
> The Foxes and Hounds Affair  
> The Project Deephole Affair


End file.
